Breathe
by kaorismash
Summary: TezuRyo. Together on the bridge.


**Title:** Breathe  
**Word count:** 871  
**Summary:** Together on the bridge.

For Neko's birthday.

* * *

He wonders if it was by chance that he sees Ryoma sitting on the edge of the bridge, leaning against a column. His glasses were fogged, and Ryoma was only a silhouette eclipsed by the sun. Somehow though he recognizes the boy all too easily and makes his way towards him. Tezuka has to inhale deeply to regulate his breathing from the strenuous afternoon jog. It was no longer tennis season, but that was a poor excuse to stop training.

Tezuka's footsteps are light, but Ryoma's sharp hearing catches them anyway. Ryoma throws a glance over his shoulder. His lips stretch into a lazy smile at Tezuka's appearance. His hair is windswept and sweat is dripping down his face, falling onto the towel around his neck. Tezuka in turn studies Ryoma. He still looks the same, perhaps a little older, a little taller, but still the same freshman prodigy that stepped onto the courts of Seigaku with his deep red racket and catlike smirk, still the same Seigaku regular that fought with him in the Nationals till the end.

Ryoma has his elbow propped up on one knee and the other leg is dangling off the edge. Tezuka is tempted to scold him for being reckless but doesn't wish to waste his breath on something that he knows Ryoma would only scoff at.

Tezuka sets his water bottle next to Ryoma's Ponta and leans against the bricks. His breathing is irregular still, but he isn't as out of breathe as he was earlier. Ryoma turns back to look at the view in the setting sun against the sparkling water. There are small boats tied to the docks, rocking gently against the water, and there are small birds paddling around, rippling the waters around them.

Then Ryoma drops his head back to stare at the colorful sky, full of reds and oranges and purples and yellows. There is only a hint of blue at the edges. Tezuka can't help but be conscious of the small gap between their shoulders, of how close Ryoma is compared to the miles of land and seas not too long ago.

Tezuka wonders how long Ryoma has been back, if anyone knows of his return, if he's here to stay. He has questions of America, of how Ryoma had been doing, of Ryoma's tennis. He knows the answers well enough though. He'd been following Ryoma around on cable TV, collecting all the newspaper articles and magazine clippings and internet updates he could get his hands on, but he knows news reports and tabloids are nothing compared to what Ryoma actually thinks.

Ryoma wants to ask him about his elbow and his shoulder and his wrist, about his tennis and high school and Seigaku. He knew he would missed out on a lot when he went back to America, but that doesn't make him feel any better to know that Tezuka has been progressing on his own, to know that he couldn't be there as Tezuka's rival and support when Tezuka had been there for him, to break him away from his fathers tennis and to help him evolve. He wants to return the favor and that's why he's returned for good.

Ryoma shifts slightly, languidly turning his body around so that now his back is resting against the column and he is facing Tezuka. He stares unabashedly, absorbing all the details of his captain he can. Tezuka looks taller, stronger, but he is still the same mighty captain that looked down at him through his glasses and ordered him ridiculous amounts of laps around the courts, still the same passionate captain that would sacrifice his tennis for his team, and still the same person that taught him how to _fly_.

A smile blossoms on his lips when he sees that Tezuka still hasn't gotten his breathing under control. Ryoma can hear him clearly from where he sits. He entertains the idea that it's his presence that leaves Tezuka out of breath and smiles a little wider.

He offers Tezuka the opened can of Ponta now dangling between his slender fingers. Tezuka casts him a look from the corner of his eyes, head tilting to the side as he studies the purple can of carbonated sugar and additives. He accepts it nonetheless and sips, lips lingering on the edge where Ryoma had no doubt drunken from. There is a wince on Tezuka's face as the drink fizzes down his dry throat. He breathes out harshly and he licks his lips gingerly and runs his tongue around his mouth for the last vestiges of the sweet flavor that always reminds him of Ryoma. Then he gingerly sets it down next to his own water bottle, very aware of the bright shine in Ryoma's large eyes.

He slants Ryoma a look when the boy leans forward, hands moving to rest on Tezuka's shoulders for support. Tezuka watches curiously but remains unmoving.

Ryoma is so close to him now that he can feel his breath against his lips. Tezuka's breathing hitches again but he swears his heart isn't beating a little faster than before.

Then Ryoma steals his breath away, because it simply wasn't fair if only jogging and Ponta could leave him breathless.


End file.
